The Navy Way
by sovinnai
Summary: "There's the Right Way, there's the Wrong Way, and then there's the Navy Way." Lieutenant Commander John Shepard is space navy through and through. He's never even set foot in a combat zone on the ground. When he gets orders to command the newest frigate in the Alliance Fleet, he's going to have to learn some new things, and fast. Having the Butcher of Torfan as his XO doesn't help
1. Chapter 1

**It's been a while since I've put up any stories or updates, unfortunately. I've been very busy for the past few years, and haven't done much writing. I certainly can't promise that I'll update this or any of my other stories too frequently, although I am still and will still work on them. This one is fairly different than most of my other stories, but it addresses something that really bugged me when I played through Mass Effect. Why the hell was a special forces operator given command of the newest frigate in the alliance fleet, and another as the XO? The only real naval officer on that ship was Pressley, and he didn't have any say in command. So, this story will try to explore what happens if Shepard was a real space navy officer, and not an N7. Instead, he will be a C5 – the Military Vocation Code designation for an officer qualified for command.**

**There will be OCs, but the story will still center on Shepard and his merry bunch of space mercenaries and killers. However, it will focus more on the daily running of the ship and the crew, rather than the missions I'm sure you've all played and read about dozens of times. Also, this Shepard will not do things the canon way, by any means.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

The man stood, with his back to the conference room, looking out across the starscape. At the edges of his field of view through the windows, he could see other bits and pieces of Arcturus Station protruding from the main station body. In the far distance, he saw a small twinkle of light moving at a fair clip, making it a vessel, not another star. He couldn't really judge the size or distance of a ship that far out, but his best guess would make it a frigate, based on its relative speed and perceived size.

From behind him, he heard a voice. "What about Sorenson?"

The man winced. He opened his mouth to speak, but was forestalled.

"The Butcher? No! Putting him up would set back our reputation with the Council by decades."

The man's grimace did not fade. He hated agreeing with the Ambassador, rare as the event was. Particularly on this pint, since Sorenson had been his subordinate several times, although fortunately not at Torfan. Loyalty to the men under his command was his most firm rule, no matter how long ago or for how short a time they had served him. But in this case, he had to agree with Udina.

The first voice spoke again. "They asked us to nominate a candidate. They can't complain if they dislike the best candidate we have."

Udina disagreed stridently. "He's not the best candidate if he'll be distrusted by the council! Much as you hate to admit it, Admiral, politics will be a part of this, whether you like it or not."

Admiral Hackett spoke again. "What do you think, Captain? You've been quiet so far."

The man at the window turned to look at his superiors. "I'm not entirely sure why I'm in this discussion, sir. I'm just a Captain, not a policy maker."

"And, Captain Anderson, you were the last human the Council considered for a Spectre. Even if you did fail their tests, and put us back by two decades, you still may have valuable insight. That's what the Prime Minister thinks, anyway. I'm not sure if I agree."

Captain Anderson was gratified to see the Admiral glare at Udina. "That is not under discussion right now, Ambassador. And, the Captain is one of the most decorated N7 operatives in the entire Alliance Navy. No matter what you may think, I agree with the PM that Anderson will give us some valuable advice on this matter."

"What kind of valuable insight could that possibly be, Admiral?" Udina glared at the commander of Fifth Fleet. "He wasn't successful in his bid for Spectre. He embarrassed Ambassador Goyle when Saren made his report to the council. I don't want our next candidate doing the same to me."

The Captain spoke to forestall the angry dispute his superiors were about to get into. "With all due respect, sir, Ambassador, I'm not sure why we're only considering N7 for this."

"What do you mean, Captain?"

"Well, sir, I don't see why we have to put forth some highly decorated Special Forces operator to join the Spectres."

"Now, Captain, we need to show the Council races that we can provide a skilled –"

Udina interrupted the Admiral, his voice curious. "What are you suggesting instead, then, Captain?"

Anderson was surprised that Udina hadn't rejected his suggestion out of hand. "What about Shepard?"

"But Shepherd is space navy through and through. He's never even served on a ground team," Admiral Hackett protested.

Udina nodded. "So what makes you think a Navy officer would make a better choice for a Spectre than a Marine who's actually tested in ground combat?"

Anderson was tempted to point out to Udina that technically all of the prospects they were considering were Navy officers, and that the distinction was between space navy and marines, not Navy and Marines. But he decided that, tempting though it was, and entertaining thought it would be, that would just be splitting hairs.

"Well, gentlemen, like I said, I don't understand why we are so set on putting forth a ground operator as our Spectre candidate. Not all of the Council's Spectres are special operations and ground combat specialized like Saren. They can be diplomats, intelligence experts, hackers. So why not a space navy officer?"

"_Why_ would we put forward a naval officer, though?" Udina asked. His manner had changed from openly derisive towards Anderson to curious and probably at least a little intrigued.

"Because, rightly or wrongly, the Council races blame us for the recent upsurge in galactic violence. If we put forward a ground combat operator, we will we be perceived as continuing that trend by fighting violence with more violence. If, on the other hand, we propose placing a space navy officer, and perhaps a ship as well, at the Council's disposal, the Council may see us as being willing to try to restore the peace of forty or fifty years ago."

Udina looked frankly flabbergasted at his analysis. Anderson hid a grin at the Ambassador's reaction.

The Admiral, though, still looked unconvinced. "Either way our candidate would be a military officer. If you think that's true, why don't we suggest an actual diplomat?" As Udina opened his mouth to interject, Admiral Hackett continued, "I don't believe we should, myself, but I'd like to hear your analysis, Captain."

Captain Anderson took a moment to gather his thoughts. He had been thinking about this whole thing for the last few hours, ever since Admiral Hackett had informed him of the nature of the meeting he would be invited to. He wasn't sure he liked where his conclusions had brought him to, but…

"Well, sir, I believe that the Council will think that a non-military candidate will show that we're not truly serious about putting forth our best Spectre candidate. To be frankly honest, the Council doesn't see us as a diplomatic race—that's the Asari—or a trading one like the Volus, or one which is good at intelligence. Ever since the First Contact War they've seen us as a military race, and at least the Asari and Salarians think we might be a good balance against the Turians."

Udina looked thoughtful at this statement. "That's unfortunately very true, Captain. Of course the influx of humans into mercenary groups, and even C-Sec hasn't helped matters. Our trade routes _have_ helped, but unfortunately humans are as often selling guns as any other product."

Hackett nodded. "I hadn't considered that part, but it's true. My first thought was that a military Spectre will provide a utility that the Council is always in need of, while a Spectre who specializes in intelligence gathering or diplomacy will give them fears of split loyalties. Of course a military Spectre would have that too, but a spook could do far more damage to the Council than some jarhead, or at least they'd see it that way."

"True, true. In a way the Spectre candidacy is a trap. Either we propose a candidate who's…well, a candidate like the Butcher, and show that we're nothing but the militaristic hotheads that the Council claims we are, or we propose a lesser candidate or none, and show that humans aren't ready to exert influence in galactic affairs."

"Right. And the Council will feel that a Spectre candidate with a military background will be used to further our own goals and to set back the goals of the Batarians – and the Turians too. To be fair, I'm sure that a human Spectre _would_ do so, and I'm also sure that for all their protestations of neutrality, all the Spectres support the goals of their own race."

Anderson hid an incredulous look as he saw the way Udina and Hackett had started throwing ideas back and forth instead of the barbs they'd been tossing earlier. They'd probably make a good team if it weren't for the fact that they hated each other's guts.

Abruptly, however, it seemed that his two superiors noticed their almost collegial byplay and began glaring at each other again. The Ambassador turned to him to avoid looking at Hackett and asked, "So, Captain Anderson, how does assigning a naval officer fix this problem?

"Well, Ambassador, as you said, a ground combat specialist will tell them that we're serious about the candidacy, but will also bring out the fears and assumptions we've been talking about. A space naval officer, however, will be able to combat things that plague all of the Council races – smuggling, piracy, mercenaries, slavers – and won't really be able to damage their interests. It'll show that we are committed to supporting the Council and, like I said earlier, committed to restoring the peace that reigned before we came onto the scene."

Udina obviously liked the idea. "That is a very good point, Captain. I would not have thought that a military man would have such a good insight into Council politics."

"Well, he was a Spectre candidate several years ago," Hackett said, not quite smiling. "And Captain Anderson spent some time as the assistant to the military attaché to the Council when he was a Staff Lieutenant. In any case, Captain, why would the Council feel that we are serious about our Spectre candidacy if we are putting forth a space navy officer? A space officer, unlike a ground officer, requires a ship and crew. Would you suggest that we ask the Council to provide a ship and crew? Or do you think we should send the Spectre with a cruiser? I don't think that a frigate would quite convince the Council of our cooperativeness."

Anderson sighed, and his shoulders sank a few millimeters. This was the unpalatable requirement that he'd been wrestling with since he'd thought of this solution to the Spectre problem . The answer was obvious, but it would mean giving up his beautiful command before it even started.

"We should give him the Normandy."

Surprise was not an emotion that Admiral Hackett expressed often, but he certainly did now. "The Normandy_?_ Captain, that's your command, you earned it."

"Sir, it's the best option. We were talking about showing the Council we're serious about this…well this will show them. Besides, Shepard will be a better captain for her than I'd ever be. I'm a grunt at heart, not a spacer. He was born to command the Normandy."

Hackett was obviously still unsure. "Captain, I'm not sure if—"

Udina interjected, "Captain, that's a very good idea. I understand that you don't want to lose your command, but I'm sure that we can give you a better posting somewhere. Giving the Normandy to our Spectre candidate will show the Council our good-will and commitment."

Captain Anderson glared at Udina. He didn't understand what it meant to be given command of the Normandy, the newest and most advanced ship in the Alliance fleet, and he certainly didn't understand how Anderson felt about it. Just because it was his idea, and just because it was the best solution, didn't mean that he had to like it.

Nonetheless, it _was_ the best solution, and duty forced him to agree, whatever his personal feelings. "Admiral, I am not happy about this, believe me. But it is for the best. It's not about my career, it's not about my being a plank owner of the Normandy, it's not even about my crew. It's about doing my duty as I see it, and that's what this is.

Admiral Hackett nodded. "Very well, I agree. I don't feel happy about it, but I agree. I promise I'll get you command of a dreadnought after this."

Udina smiled. "Good, then, we've settled it. Shepard will be given command of the Normandy and will be our candidate to the Spectres. Unless either of you have different suggestions? I will admit to not having read the files of any navy officers before this meeting."

"No, I think Shepard is the right choice. He's a decorated naval officer, and this won't be his first independent command. He commanded a small scanning post in the Verge when he was a 1st Lieutenant, and managed to destroy a Batarian ship and evacuate his men during the Blitz in '76."

"Still, he hasn't commanded anything other than that, sir," Captain Anderson said, playing the role of Devil's Advocate. "He's currently the XO of the Perugia. He went through command school, but he's still slated for another XO posting before getting his C5 designation."

Ambassador Udina looked a little bit lost at this, so Anderson explained. "Shepard hasn't been in command of a ship before, just a scanning post, which counts as shore duty. It's standard to give prospective commanders two tours as an XO, or executive officer – that's second in command, effectively – before their first command tour. That's doubly true for a ship like the Normandy."

"Well, we can't wait for however long he needs to do that. We need a candidate to give to the Council within the month. Should we consider another option?"

"No, I think we can disregard standard protocol on this one," the Admiral said. "Shepard's good, and given his record I think I can justify it. Admiral Kahoku won't be happy, though. The Normandy was slated for one of his wolf packs, and Shepard was supposed to be the XO of another of his frigates – he just lost the most sought after ship and the most sought after officer in the fleet in one blow." Hackett paused, and then grinned. "I'll also be hard-pressed to explain to Shepard's mother how her son got a command before she did. She still outranks him, but who knows how long that will last."

"Very well, then. It appears the matter is settled," Ambassador Udina looked pleased. "Admiral, please assign the Captain here to my staff, as it appears he no longer has a ship. He impressed me, and I think I can make use of him on the Citadel."

"Sir, I don't really—" Anderson protested vainly.

"That sounds like a fantastic idea," Hackett boomed. "Captain Anderson, you are now assigned to the Ambassador's staff on the Citadel. I'll see about getting you that dreadnought in a few years."

Captain Anderson tried to reason with the Admiral – he really didn't want to deal with Udina, and wasn't too fond of the Citadel either, but Admiral Hackett wouldn't budge.

* * *

Several hours later, an order went out to a cruiser patrolling in the Skyllian Verge:

_To: Lieutenant Commander John Shepard, Executive Officer, SSV Perugia,_

_From: Admiral Steven Hackett, Commanding Officer, Fifth Fleet,_

_Commander Shepard,_

_You are hereby directed to proceed to Arcturus Station and report to Admiral Hackett. You will take command of the SR-1 SSV Normandy, and take her on her sea trials. The crew of the Normandy will be hand-picked by you and Captain David Anderson, N7, and therefore you are authorized to bring three (3) members of the Perugia's crew with you to your new assignment. This has already been conveyed to Commander Greene as well. _

_Good luck, Shepard. I'm not sure that you'll be thanking me for this._

_Respectfully,_

_Admiral Hackett, Fifth Fleet_


	2. The SSV Normandy

**So, Chapter 2. I apologize ahead of time, but part of this chapter is going to be attacking things that I felt seemed like idiotic bits of the Normandy's design. I just couldn't see a professional navy officer (particularly this Shepard) walk through the Normandy and not see them and point them out at length and with creativity to the one giving them the tour.**

**Also, I've included my own calculation of the SSV Normandy SR-1's crew at the very end of this chapter. My conclusion is that the frigate should have a crew of around 60-70, not the absolutely insanely low number of 20 that I saw somewhere, nor even 40. I'll explain how I reached that conclusion at the end. I ended up picking 65 as the number of her complement, give or take one or two depending.**

**Incidentally, because there's a crew of 65, and I'm going to be focusing on the naval bits of the Mass Effect universe, there will be quite a few OCs showing up, and some will be quite important. I apologize if you don't like it, but I do hope they're interesting at least.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I disclaim this.**

Lieutenant Commander – no, Staff Commander, now, after a brief ceremony that had taken about five seconds flat – Shepard's head was whirling as he followed Captain Anderson down an access way in Arcturus Station. Three days ago, he had been the Executive Officer of the SSV Perugia, a cruiser in the Attican Traverse, worrying about looking for Batarian slavers and about what kind of trouble Serviceman 1st Yackley was going to get in on their next shore leave. Then he had, in quick succession, received notice that he was going to get a command almost three years earlier than he had expected (before his mom, actually, and wasn't that a joke), been promoted to Staff Commander, been told just what ship he was going to get (the first of her class, and newly out of the shipyards!), and been told – in confidence, mind you – that he was likely to be a candidate to be the first human Spectre.

That would be enough to leave a lesser man in shock. But Commander John Shepard was made of stronger stuff. He had resisted the urge to break into his secret stash of Shanxi Whiskey or make a tour of all of the bars and places of ill-repute on Arcturus Station. Perhaps when he was a Lieutenant, he would have, or maybe if he hadn't had the eyes of Ops Chief Wilkins, the former Chief of Boat of the old Kilimanjaro, his mother's ship, on him, he would have.

And why the hell was the COB of a dreadnought being assigned to a mere frigate anyway, even if it _was _the newest damn ship in the fleet? And why, in a crew that was supposedly going to be 'hand-picked,' was he getting _three_ fresh-faced green lieutenants? And why couldn't he pick his own Marine Detachment CO? He thought that LT Killen, the MDet XO on the Perugia, would make a fine choice for the Normandy. But no, he was able to bring along three crewmen from the Perugia, but not Marine officers – those have already been selected. Not engineering officers – again, those have already been selected. Not the Chief of Boat, or the Sensors Officer or the Medical Officer, or the Supply Officer. At least he got his own Tactical Officer, and two of the three Engineering Section Chiefs.

Hell, he couldn't complain, really. Even the chance to bring three crewmen from his old ship was something most COs would have given their left leg for. Not that Commander Greene had been happy about it, but when Admiral Hackett says to let your XO bring his choice of crewmen with him to his next posting, you don't say no. Anyway, Greene was a good sort, and even shared a glass of Ilium Wine with Shepard to congratulate him on his new command. Of course, that was before Greene found out that Shepard had decided to take LT Martins, Chief Welles and Chief Fowler with him to the Normandy, after which Shepard had been cursed out by an old spacer with the vocabulary of…well, the vocabulary of an old spacer. He'd even given Shepard a few new curses, which wasn't a distinction that most people could claim.

Maybe three people, at most. Well, four, if you counted Gunnery Chief Webb of the Elbrus, but that was back when Shepard had been a kid, so he didn't know enough curse words yet for it to really count. Then again, Chief Webb had taught him all the curse words he would need to know to get through OCS, as well as all of the less important parts of being a good officer – duty, responsibility, knowing the fore end of the ship from the arse of it (he had used that terminology to describe a ship to his DI once, and that DI had taught him roughly a third of his cussing vocabulary right then and there), and all that rot.

By the time that Shepard had gone through two checkpoints, showing his ID and saluting without even realizing it, and greeted and saluted or returned the salutes of three old friends, again without consciously realizing it, he had figured out that he was purposely trying not to think about the most important part of the day.

Probably that was for the best, for if he _had_ been consciously thinking about it, he probably would have been a nervous wreck by the time he and Captain Anderson had reached their destination. Instead, Shepard was quite surprised when the Captain stopped abruptly and he nearly ran into the man's back.

"Well, Shepard, here she is. What do you think of your new ship?"

Shepard looked through the viewport of the spacedock in front of him, and, an almost unheard of circumstance, he was struck utterly and completely dumb.

It took almost three minutes for him to regain his composure, and when he did, the only thing he could say was "She's beautiful."

And she was. Shepard had grown up on shipboard, mostly on dreadnoughts, since that was where his mom had spent her career. He'd then spent most of his own career switching between frigates and cruisers—more often cruisers than frigates, to be honest. Shepard could honestly say that he'd seen every class and the majority of the individual ships in the Alliance Fleet, and this, this beauty certainly put all of them to shame.

Shepard always tried to be honest, not least to himself, and he had to admit that at least a good part of this feeling was just because she was his first command of an FTL capable ship. He'd probably have called his first command beautiful even if it had been a hideous and outdated cruiser which looked like it was bound for the breakers.

But the Normandy was far from headed for the breakers. Shepard gazed in awe at her trim lines, sweeping along her length from her bow to the stabilizer protruding from the top of her hull in the stern. Her thruster wings jutted out gracefully from her stern half on the port and starboard sides, angling slightly 'downwards,' and their tips extended nearly to her bow.

The Normandy's thruster wings were significantly thinner and more separated from her hull than on most Alliance frigates he'd seen, an obvious derivative of Turian design. It looked like the wings could even move to some extent, which would probably make atmospheric maneuvering and docking significantly less difficult. Fortunately, the wings weren't angled as severely as in the Verrikan-Class Frigates of the Turian fleet, which Shepard always felt was a design tradeoff between pride and effectiveness. Between the two, he'd choose effectiveness any day, but it seemed like the Turians would take pride as often as not.

But despite his immense satisfaction with his new command, something was nagging at the back of his mind as he looked it over, and it finally clicked as he was scanning the hull of the vessel.

"Sir, what's her weapons loadout? I see the Mass Accelerator Cannon on its spinal mount and the GARDIAN arrays, but does she have any Javelins? I don't see any racks on the wings."

Captain Anderson smiled. "Well, the Normandy actually has interior Javelin racks, not exterior ones. See there, on the wings between the outer and inner thrusters? Those are her Javelin racks. She's got four Javelin torpedoes on each wing, and she's got another twelve in storage, although you'll have to send someone EVA to replace them."

Shepard pondered this new fact as he followed the Captain to the airlock further up the access way. Well, that had its advantages and disadvantages, he supposed, just like all design decisions. Having interior Javelin racks meant that the torpedoes would be less likely to be jerked loose in intense maneuvering or accidentally detonated by enemy fire. On the other hand, they'd be harder to reload, and sending someone EVA in combat… not really a good idea.

Hmm, he'd have to sit down and figure this out in depth, but it might be that the Javelins wouldn't be as important on the Normandy as on a normal frigate. The Normandy's stealth systems could mean that she could launch a MAC round while an opposing ship wasn't expecting it and didn't have their barriers up. On the other hand, that was also true of the Javelins, with the added advantage that the Javelins could launch faster and hit quicker, and since enemy point defense was useless if it didn't have any warning, the Javelins could be even more dangerous on the Normandy than on another frigate.

"Commander Shepard." Shepard looked around suddenly, putting thoughts on the utilization of his new command to the side, and saw that they had arrived at the airlock.

"Welcome aboard to your new command," Captain Anderson said, as they walked past the marine guards and a few Turian and human engineers into the interior of the ship. When the airlock had cycled, Shepard came onboard his new command, and breathed in that new ship smell. He'd been a plank owner of a ship only once before, the Geneva-class Cruiser Cape Town when he'd been a green Lieutenant, but it wasn't something you forgot easily.

Anderson and Shepard stepped out of the airlock onto the bridge. Shepard looked over the bridge and found not much to complain about, besides the fact that the MAC took up a lot of room and made the bridge rather cramped – but that was to be expected. The bridge stations seemed to be standard, if more advanced than the rather outdated stations on the Perugia.

Shepard took a few moments to look them over, but quickly went to the most important place on the ship, at least in his opinion. The CIC, however, was where he got his first shock as the new CO of the Turian-Human joint project.

"Why is there a map of the galaxy taking up half of my CIC?" he asked, annoyed. "And more importantly, why the hell are there no seats at the CIC workstations? How is my crew supposed to work in a combat situation if they have to be standing up to do their jobs? What happens if we take fire and the artificial gravity can't handle it?"

Captain Anderson frowned. "Well, the first is just because the galaxy map is programmed into it right now. As the CO, it's your prerogative to set it up as you see fit. The Normandy was intended as a deep scout, though, so it was deemed more important to know the strategic situation instead of just the tactical one. As to your second point, I don't know. It seems like a rather obvious oversight. I confess that I didn't think of it myself, but I am an N7 at heart, not really meant for space command."

"Don't sell yourself short, sir. I've a friend on the Tokyo who said that you were the best CO she'd ever had. Anyway, I will definitely be changing the CIC display. Who would need to see a map of the entire galaxy? That seems like a pretty broad definition of 'strategic situation', and rather useless when you're getting fired on. As for the other, could you get the dock jockeys to put in shock-resistant seats for the CIC workstations? I don't want to mess with the safety of my crew."

"Of course, Commander Shepard. It is your ship, after all, even if it's still in the hands of Arcturus Station." Anderson strode to one of the workstations on the CIC, and logged in. Shepard wasn't sure how he felt about the fact that the N7 Captain knew his way around the Normandy so well. If he was totally honest with himself, he felt a bit jealous about it.

As Anderson spent some time on the workstation, presumably sending a message to the dockyard staff to bring shock-resistant seats, Shepard wandered around the CIC. The placement of the CO's station at the back of the CIC wasn't something that really bothered him – he had seen it before, after all, when he'd visited a Turian dreadnought over Palaven during Department Head School. It had its advantages, and Shepard figured he'd probably be able to get used to it.

Shepard poked his head into the room directly behind the CIC, and found what was presumably a communications room, complete with a massive viewing screen at the aft end of the compartment. Well, with that screen, this room could double as a planning and strategy room, with a map of the galaxy, or at least of individual sectors, displayed on the wall. It would be a far better place to put it than the CIC, that was certain.

Shepard wandered back out of the communications room, and walked towards the port bulkhead, turning to the stern and seeing…

"What the hell?"

"Well, Commander, I see you've found one of the presents that the boys at the Office of Naval Design left us."

"That's a…why the hell is there an honest to god set of stairs on _my _ship?" Shepard spluttered.

"Well, this one I can't really answer. Someone had a brainstorm, and decided to put a set of stairs into the Normandy's design. Maybe it was somebody's idea of a joke."

"But…why…who the hell thought this was a good idea?" Shepard followed that question with a set of curses that would make a Krogan blush.

Shepard looked at the placement of the stairs, then thought for a second, and swore yet again. "Please don't tell me there's a matching stairway on the starboard side?"

"Ah…I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Commander. There _is_ a matching stairway on the starboard side."

Shepard looked at the Captain in incredulity and horror. "But…why would some egghead decide to waste space on something like this? If we had a nice, honest, traditional ladderwell here, we could use all that extra space on weapons, living quarters, hell, I wouldn't mind bringing along some extra chow if we're going on a long patrol."

Anderson shrugged. "I may not be born and bred to space like you, but even I realized that this was rather ridiculous. By the time I got here, however, it was already too late."

Shepard shook his head in disbelief. "Well, onwards and downwards, right, sir? Are there any other surprises that you think I should know about?"

The new CO of the Normandy paled as Anderson didn't respond right away.

"Oh, no, sir. Please don't tell me. Is my Chief Engineer a Batarian? Did someone decide to replace the GARDIAN arrays with antique machine guns out of the Museum of Toronto? Or the ship is stocked up entirely with dextro rations?"

"Well, I can categorically deny the first two, and since we stocked the ship with rations from Alliance stores, I find the third guess unlikely. In any case, you'll see soon enough."

And saw he did. Immediately after walking down the stairs (stairs on a warship? That still boggled Shepard's mind), Shepard came face to face with something that was, if possible, even more heinous of a design decision.

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "A lift? There is really an elevator on my ship? What the hell?"

"I don't know. Like I said, maybe it was someone's idea of a joke."

"Helluva bad joke, if that's what it was," Shepard said. "An elevator? What happens if we take combat damage and the elevator can't operate? Please tell me there's another way to get between decks?"

Anderson nodded. "There's a ladderway…well, more of a maintenance hatch, leading from the lab forwards from the infirmary down to the cargo hold. Like the ladderway from CIC to the boat bay on the old Cape Town Class."

Shepard shook his head. An elevator…what was this, a luxury cruise ship? Shepard paused in his thoughts for a second, as he realized that this ship was like some billionaire's idea of a warship.

"This ship wasn't designed for John Noble by any chance, was it?"

"What?" Anderson asked, confused. Shepard was gratified to see his look of incomprehension.

"John Noble, the media mogul. A year or so ago, he tracked me down while I was on leave on the Citadel and asked me to captain his private cruiser. I was just thinking that this ship was almost like what I would imagine his idea of a warship would be."

"Well, no, but I can see how you'd think that. I honestly don't know what OND was thinking when they approved the stairs and elevator. There are some very advanced features on the Normandy, but at the same time, there are some things that just make me shake my head in shock."

"Well, it is an entirely experimental class of ships. Hopefully the next in her class will work out some of the kinks."

"I expect you to write up a report for OND," Anderson said, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Type up all of the things you'd like to see changed on the Ain Jalut, and I'll see that as many as possible are implemented."

"The next Normandy Class ship has already been named? How far along is her construction?"

"I'm not entirely sure. She's slated for commissioning sometime in 2184, but I intend to write-up some recommendations anyway. You should too, see if we can't knock some sense into OND."

"Aye, aye, sir," Shepard said, with an exaggerated salute.

"Knock it off, Shepard," Anderson said with a smile. "Let's get on with the tour."

Fortunately, the rest of the tour didn't reveal any major surprises of the same scale. Of course it did show some other, lesser problems that were normal in a new class, particularly one designed with a joint Turian-Human engineering team. The space taken up by the stairs couldn't be easily fixed without a major shipyard overhaul, but that wasn't true for the frigging gigantic mess. And only on a Turian designed ship would there be sleeping pods instead of real quarters. Turians could deal with those conditions, humans…couldn't.

After a little bit of thought, Shepard pulled out his omni-tool and took some notes. Despite his affected disdain for organization and bureaucracy, he had long since realized the value of writing his thoughts down, and that was particularly true when it came to trying to fix the damage some Turian eggheads had done to _his_ ship.

_Expand sleeping quarters – split CO quarters in half, add XO and officer staterooms on the port side of second deck. Chief quarters on starboard side. Wardroom in-between officer staterooms and infirmary/lab. Enlisted quarters on third deck? Or centerline of second deck? Keep enlisted mess where it is, but shorten it and add chief's mess near chief's quarters. Cargo deck bigger than necessary, can use it for enlisted quarters. _

By the time they had finished their tour, Shepard had a great list of changes that he'd like instituted on his ship, most of which could be fixed without too much effort before the shakedown cruise started in a few days. Mostly just involved moving around interior, non-load-bearing bulkheads and interior furniture. The shock-resistant workstations were a more pressing matter, of course.

Of course, Shepard's equanimity about the changes came to a sudden halt when Captain Anderson, logged back onto his workstation to give the yard dogs more change orders, gasped suddenly.

"What is it, sir?" Commander Shepard asked.

Anderson straightened, looking grim. "Well, it seems that your shakedown cruise has been moved up by a little bit."

"How much, sir?" Shepard asked, suspicious. A little bit didn't warrant that kind of expression on the older man's face.

"Well, your new orders are to go to Eden Prime in four hours."

A pause while Shepard tried to digest this information. Then…

"What the hell, sir?" he shouted, incredulously.

* * *

2nd Lieutenant Matt Henderson followed his immediate superior through the crowds on Arcturus Station. Attempted to follow, at least, for the Lieutenant Commander's bulk and utter disregard for the safety of fellow pedestrians let him cut through the crowd like a knife through soft butter. LT Henderson, on the other hand, was greatly slowed by his unwillingness to use his shoulders and elbows on the other inhabitants of the station.

Finally, he reached a lull in the crowd, and sped up his stride to draw abreast of Lieutenant Commander Sorenson.

"Sir, where are we going? Our reassignment orders don't even have a new posting on them. Just 'you have been assigned to a new posting.' Do you even know where we're going?"

"Yes," the LTC grunted. He ignored Henderson's annoyed glance. "You'll see soon enough."

Despite Sorenson's reputation, Lieutenant Henderson had found him to be quite a good boss over the past year. Still, it was probably good not to push him too far, just in case. But… "And why I am I being reassigned with you? I'd only spent a year on the Cape Town. I still had two years left in my tour."

"I requested you."

Henderson stopped dead at that revelation. _What?_ Why would _the _Lieutenant Commander Greg Sorenson request him, of all people? A fresh-faced green LT straight out of OAP at Luna Technical?

He abruptly realized that while he had stopped, Sorenson had not, and was now a good bit ahead of him. The Marine LT did an awkward half-run to catch up again.

"Why would you request me, sir? And for what? What's going on?"

Lieutenant Commander Sorenson did not answer, but kept on walking through the corridors of the station.

Henderson had a healthy self-respect, but he knew that it would take an extraordinary officer to catch the attention of a man with a reputation like Commander Sorenson's, and he knew that he was not that. He'd like to think that he was a fairly good officer, for one so junior, at least. Just like Captain Mathews had taught him at OAP, he listened to his Chief and made sure to talk to his men without getting too familiar. He thought that he'd make a solid officer, and, as long as he didn't freeze up in combat, he'd have a healthy career in the Navy.

But he was well aware that he had barely more than a year in the Fleet, and not a particularly eventful one at that. There had been no acts of heroism or particularly brilliant tactical maneuvers that could have earned him his CO's approval and admiration, no matter how much he dreamed of it. He hadn't even seen combat.

So, there must be something else going on. LTC Sorenson hadn't spoken in response to his question, so obviously he would get no answers there. Not really a surprise, that, as Sorenson was not exactly a loquacious man.

Well, if he had learned nothing else at Luna Technical, he had learned the necessity of finding out what was going on before he blundered into something stupid. That whole damned incident had nearly cost him his commission, and he would not fail like that again!

Judging by the conspicuously posted signage, they were headed into a classified section of the station, far from the ordinary docking berths. Where _were _they going to be posted? He really didn't have any idea, although the fact that he had been told to wear his dress blues and bring his fatigues and locker made him think that they'd been assigned to a new ship.

Then again, the fact that they were headed for secure areas of Arcturus Station made him think that maybe they're supposed to be pulling security for some black ops project on the station. Biotics training, maybe? Or a research project, that could be it.

Still, it all came back to the question of why the hell Commander Sorenson, the Butcher of Torfan, would ask specifically for an average marine butter bar like one 2nd Lieutenant Matt Henderson. And no matter how hard he tried, Henderson just couldn't think of a good reason.

Lost in his thoughts, Henderson almost failed to notice that they had reached the entrance to a docking bay. In fact, he _had_ failed to notice, at least until the two armored Marines guarding the hatch to the right saluted the passing officers. Henderson returned their salute, but he was embarrassed by how abrupt and late his salute was. So much for situational awareness.

The two Marines didn't notice, or didn't show that they did, at least, but Henderson could tell that the Commander did. Henderson flushed with embarrassment, even though Sorenson didn't so much as glance his way in reproach.

When he followed Sorenson through the hatch, however, Henderson soon forgot his embarrassment as he looked through the panes of the docking bay viewing port and gaped at a ship like none he'd ever seen before where it rested in the docking cradles. Down its side ran the markings Normandy, SR-1.

LTC Sorenson shook his head and said, not too harshly, "Come on, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Sir," Henderson responded, and followed the Lieutenant Commander through the airlock of the Normandy, towing the locker filled with his meager few possession behind him.

When the airlock flushed, Henderson was surprised by the sudden sound of raised voices coming from the interior of the Normandy directly in front of him.

"—am I supposed to get the Normandy ready in less than three hours? We've still got Turian technicians crawling over her insides, we're missing half of her complement, and I don't even have my XO on board yet."

As Henderson followed Sorenson through into the insides of the Normandy, he saw that the man doing the shouting was a brown-haired man wearing the insignia of a Staff Commander on his working fatigues, and he was addressing a dark-skinned Captain who was standing close to the airlock hatch.

"Well, Commander, Admiral Hackett did tell you that he wasn't necessarily doing you a favor, giving you this command. Your objections are obstacles to be overcome, not reasons not to proceed. This is an important mission, and one that requires haste." The Captain turned to see the newcomers, and smiled. "And it seems that your XO has arrived, along with your MDet commander."

Henderson frowned and looked around. Obviously Sorenson was going to be the MDet commander, but he couldn't see anyone around who could be the XO. Well, having Sorenson as his superior again would be good, although he obviously would have been happier in the field leading a team of N7s than the thirty marines of a cruiser's marine detachment. Well, maybe this ship – looks like a frigate, probably, although it was a little small even for that – would have a marine detachment more to Sorenson's liking. Still, where is the XO, then? Had he …Henderson's thoughts stuttered to a halt for a second. Could it be they mean Sorenson would be the XO? No, that couldn't be. That would mean that Henderson himself would be the…

"Commander Shepard, this is Lieutenant Commander Sorenson, your new XO, and 2nd Lieutenant Henderson, your MDet. Commander Sorenson, Lieutenant Henderson, this is Staff Commander Shepard, the CO of the Normandy."

As Sorenson saluted and Henderson belatedly followed suit, the Lieutenant's mind was reeling. Marine detachment commander? How is that even possible? He was only a 2nd Lieutenant, and he'd only spent a year in the fleet, so how could he command an entire MDet on a frigate? Admittedly, this looked like a small frigate, and might only have fifteen marines or so, but still…

Henderson's thoughts were interrupted by his new CO, who, after returning the salutes, took the older captain by the arm and led him further up towards the bridge of the Normandy, mostly out of hearing of Henderson and Sorenson.

Henderson strained his hearing to make out a few words, and what he did hear didn't fill him with confidence for his new assignment. "…two green as grass lieutenants…no Marine chief still… where's my second engineering LT?...what the hell, sir…the Butcher?"

That last comment made Henderson turn towards his superior – the XO, now. Sorenson didn't look like he had heard the CO's comment, but he was looking at Henderson with an expression that made him guiltily start and stop trying to listen in on the CO's conversation.

After a few more seconds of whispered conversation, the CO, Commander Shepard, turned back to the pair of marines. "Commander Sorenson, Lieutenant Henderson, my apologies, I just had to ask Captain Anderson a few more questions. Welcome aboard the Normandy. I would give you two a more in-depth tour, but the Captain has informed me that we need to be out of dock and headed for the mass relay in three hours, so you'll have to settle yourselves in."

Lieutenant Henderson didn't say anything, although he did look in surprise at the Captain. Anderson? He was one of the most famous N7s in the Alliance Navy, and there was even a rumor that he'd been considered for a Spectre. Henderson figured that was probably just nonsense, but at the very least Anderson was a legend in the special forces community. Henderson was honestly surprised that the man looked so normal. He wouldn't have realized that the Captain wasn't an ordinary space navy officer if Shepard hadn't said his name.

"Very well, sir. Where should we go?" Sorenson asked in his usual clipped tones.

"The Lieutenant will be berthed in Stateroom 2 on the second deck, with our Tactical Officer and our Pilot. We've got a small compliment for a frigate, but space is still at a premium. Although, you wouldn't know it from her original designers – I had to bust a few heads just to install temporary bulkheads and racks for the staterooms, and you don't want to see the rest of her insides. Commander Sorenson, you'll be given your own stateroom, but for now I'd like for you to help me get this beauty"—he patted a bulkhead lovingly as he said the word—"ready to traverse a Mass Relay within three hours. Oh, and Lieutenant, get changed into fatigues. I don't need all my officers to faint from those damned dress blues. I don't stand on ceremony, even if we are on our shakedown run. XO, I'd like you to do the same, but it can wait."

"Aye, sir," the XO responded. "Lieutenant, carry my locker to my stateroom."

Henderson nodded, used to his direct manner after a year under his command. "Aye, sir. How do I get to the second deck?"

Commander Shepard almost looked sheepish as he responded. "Well, this isn't exactly a traditional ship," he said. "Go to the end of the CIC, and…well, you'll see."

Lieutenant Henderson saluted and, dragging his and the XO's lockers behind him proceeded down the passageway to the CIC. He didn't stop to talk to anyone there, wanting to get settled in, his bags in place, and the Commander's … now XO's… bags to his stateroom before wandering around his new home. Besides, if they were going to cast off in three hours, he needed to stow his equipment away quick if he didn't want it flying around his stateroom.

As he walked past the CIC, he stopped suddenly, jaws dropping. "What the hell?" he asked, in shock.

"I know, sir, it's a shock, isn't it?" A nearby spacer, the chevrons on the shoulders of his shirt identifying him as a Serviceman 2nd class, laughed. "Scuttlebutt says Admiral Mikhailovich pitched a fit when he heard the eggheads wanted to put honest to god stairs on a warship. Apparently the eggheads overruled him."

Henderson didn't respond, still gaping at the stairway in front of him. Stairs, there were actually stairs on this frigate. No ship in the Alliance Navy had stairs; it took up far too much space that could be used to hold more important things, like weapons, or food. But here they were, instead of a vertical ladderway.

"Are you the new EngO, SensO or MDet, sir?" The spacer asked. "They're the only officers we're missing besides the XO, and I doubt you're him."

Henderson shook his head to clear the shock from it, and turned to face the spacer. "I'm the MDet, apparently. And, the XO just arrived with me, so now we're just missing the other two, Serviceman…"

"It's Lee, sir. I was hoping you're the Sensors Officer, since that's my division. Anyway, welcome aboard, sir."

"Thank you, Mr. Lee. Could you tell me where I could find my chief, after I put my locker away?"

Lee shrugged. "That's another one we're missing, sir. We're missing the marine chief, two Engineering chiefs, the tactical chief, the bridge chief, and about half of the rest of the enlisted personnel. And I hear we're about to leave for the relay, so we're probably going to be short for our shakedown run."

Henderson looked sharply at the enlisted man. "How do you know all of this?"

"I'm in Sensors. It's my job to know everything."

"No, Lee, it's your job to get back to work," a new voice interrupted. The owner of that voice was a broad-shouldered, brown-haired woman, with the insignia of a Service Chief on her shoulders. "Sorry if Lee here was bothering you, sir. He's the bane of my existence, he is."

"You flatter me, Chief," Lee said with a grin. "Besides, it's not like there's much I can do when we're still docked. I've already IDed all the traffic this side of the station, and I got Jenkins to spell me while I used the head."

"Well, then, you can ID the traffic on the other side of the station, if you're so bored," the Chief said. "And why the hell are you trusting a Marine on my equipment?"

"Come on Chief, it's not like he's going to burn it out or anything. It takes a real genius like Chapman to do something like that." At the Service Chief's stern look, however, the spacer gave in. "Okay, okay, Chief, I'm going."

As Lee walked away, the Service Chief turned to greet Lieutenant Henderson. "Sorry about that, sir. The crew's getting antsy, since we're so short and rumor is we're casting off in a couple hours. Service Chief Klane, Sensors."

"That's all right, Chief, he wasn't bothering me. 2nd Lieutenant Henderson. I'm the new Marine Detachment Commander."

"Welcome aboard, sir. I take it you've already seen the Jokes."

"The 'Jokes,' Chief?" Henderson asked her.

"That's our nickname for these things, since the CO's first reaction on seeing them was to ask if it was a practical joke by some designer."

"I'm not sure if I don't agree. So, Chief Klane, Lee was saying that I don't have an MDet Chief yet?"

"Right, he hasn't come on board yet, sir. Along with about half of our intended complement."

"Can you tell me where I might be able to find my marines?"

"They'll probably be in the cargo hold, admiring the Mako. Besides Jenkins, who's been up here in CIC for a while, most of them went straight for the Mako."

"Thanks, Chief."

"No problem, sir."

As Henderson walked down the stairway – stairway? It still boggled his mind – he considered what Lee and Klane had said. Half of the crew missing? What was so important that the ship would go on its shakedown cruise while missing that many people?

He arrived at his stateroom, which, true to the CO's words, was clearly a temporary structure. Even as he watched, shipyard workers were putting up more temporary bulkheads across the way, on the starboard side of the ship. His own stateroom was not only unfurnished, but the three racks weren't bunked, but instead took up the entire floorspace of the stateroom. He shoved his locker under one of the racks, and changed into fatigues quickly.

After he dropped off Sorenson's locker in the XO's much larger stateroom, Henderson went down to the cargo hold to meet his new detachment. The lift wasn't even much of a surprise after his shock at the stairway, but he tried not to think too hard about what a designer who put an elevator and a set of stairs onto a warship would do to the rest of it. Was the Normandy actually designed as a passenger liner? Maybe she wasn't armed with anything besides escape pods.

He received yet another shock when he reached the cargo deck and saw a pair of Turians in front of him, talking to another man in Alliance uniform. Henderson saluted when the man turned towards him and he saw the insignia of a Staff Lieutenant on his shoulders.

"Welcome aboard," the Lieutenant said, "I'm Adams, and I'm the Chief Engineer of the Normandy. Are you my missing Engineering officer?"

"Sorry, sir, I'm not. I'm the MDet, actually. 2nd Lieutenant Henderson."

"Well, hopefully I'll get my engineer before we cast off. Lieutenant, these are two Turian engineers, Octavio Tatum, and Novio Potestum. They helped design the Normandy, and they'll be helping us get her ready for her unexpectedly early departure."

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Henderson said, concealing his shock at seeing Turians on an Alliance vessel.

"Hello, Lieutenant," one of them said. He turned back to Adams immediately thereafter, continuing the discussion they had been carrying before Henderson reached Deck Three. Adams smiled apologetically at Henderson before responding to the Turian engineers.

Henderson recognized a dismissal when he saw one, and, noticing the Mako in front of him, decided to try to find his Marines there instead of hold a conversation with an alien who didn't want to speak to him.

Fortunately, the Marines were easy to spot, since they were the only Alliance Servicemen in the area who weren't busy. Instead, they were lounging around, two sitting on the wheels on the side of the Mako, two more lounging against the Mako's side, and the remaining three sitting on top of the Mako's hull. Seven of them, plus Jenkins in CIC, and plus a Service Chief…that barely made two fire teams, much less a frigate's marine detachment. Hopefully there would be at least a few more Marines coming on board with the rest of the crew, presumably after the shakedown mission.

Henderson took a moment to consider how he wanted to approach this. There was obviously no formal turnover or change of command like there had been on the Cape Town. There just wasn't time for that now, and besides he was taking command of an entirely new unit, not replacing a previous officer. Even worse, the chief wasn't on board yet, which meant Henderson would be introducing himself without the support of his senior NCO.

He had two choices, he supposed. Well, three really, since he could decide to just go back to his stateroom until Sorenson or the CO gave him some specific directions. But that was just dodging responsibility, and Captain Matthews would not have been pleased with that, and nor would Commander Sorenson. So, Henderson could try a shock-and-awe approach for introducing himself – tell them to straighten themselves out and act like real marines, put them to work somehow – or a more laid-back approach.

Well, he wasn't really suited for shock-and-awe, anyway.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he said, as he walked over to the Marines.

"Sir!" one of the Marines said, as they all stood at attention and saluted. "Sorry, we didn't see you coming."

"At ease, gentlemen," Henderson said, the façade of easy camaraderie hiding his nervousness of meeting his first real command. "I'm Lieutenant Henderson, the MDet Commander."

"You are, sir?" asked one Marine, incredulity lacing his voice. "I heard the Butcher just boarded the Normandy. Isn't he the MDet?"

Henderson laughed, although he winced inside at the nickname. "Commander Sorenson is the new XO. He brought me along from the Cape Town, where I was the 2nd Squad Leader."

The Marines looked at him with obvious respect with that revelation. Henderson didn't think he liked the fact that they respected him for his association with Sorenson, and not his own abilities, but he could work with it.

"Anyway, what are you all doing lazing around?" he asked, letting a small smile belie the disapproving words. "We're supposed to be lifting off in three hours, and you all are smoking and joking like you're a bunch of fighter pukes on leave on the Citadel."

"No, sir, we're not," replied one Marine, the one who had asked about the Butcher. His nameplate read Kandine, and he was a Private 1st Class. "We're no fighter pukes, we're hard-charging leathernecked, jarheaded marines, sir!"

"Well, then, get off your asses and go help the poor navvies," Henderson said, grinning openly now. "Look at them, struggling to lift those heavy boxes." He gestured at one serviceman who was clearly struggling to carry a box down to the end of the cargo bay. "What kind of marines are you if you aren't willing to show the spaceboys what a real man can do?"

With a laugh, Kandine straightened up from his lean, and grinned at the Lieutenant. "Aye, aye, sir!" he said, snappily. "We'll show those spaceboys what's a marine."

Henderson smiled, relieved. Kandine was the obvious leader of the squad, and if he followed Henderson's orders than so would the others. Well, it didn't seem that his first introduction went too badly. Hopefully once he got a chief as well, it would be even easier.

Henderson then turned back to his marines, watching them walk towards the end of the cargo bay. He followed, preparing to direct them to the best of his ability, at least. The ship was taking off in three hours, and he wasn't going to be the one that let it be unprepared.

He saw Chief Klane, the Sensors Chief he had met earlier, and strode towards her.

"Hey, Chief, how can me and my boys help?"

As Chief Klane responded, Henderson smiled. Now that he had successfully managed the transition into a new unit, it looked like it was finally sinking in that this was his command now, that he was a Marine Detachment commander. Not something he would have imagined not three days before, when he was still on the Cape Town.

* * *

**So, now I'll explain how I reached the conclusion of a 60-70 man crew. Firstly, you have to realize that people can't stand watch all the time, and unlike a regular job, there has to be **_**someone**_** standing watch at all times. Generally on a US Navy ship, there are three or four different watches for each position, so everyone can sleep and do their other jobs as well as watchstanding. **

**So, for example, when you go into Engineering in the game, you see Adams as well as three other personnel standing at the core. Assuming three watches (consistent with a submarine), that means that there are at least twelve engineering personnel. I'd assume at least two or three more, just to be safe. Similarly, there have to be at least two other pilots, since as good as Joker is, he needs to be spelled at the helm sometimes. Even if he doesn't actually, any Table of Organization and Equipment would include other helmsmen as a matter of course, so there may be two pilots who don't actually do anything. There also have to be backup navigators besides Pressley, as well as enlisted personnel for those positions as well.**

**If anybody would like, I can send them the entire Table of Organization and Equipment (TOE) I've written up, but I figure it's a bit much for here. In any case, I've come up with an absolute minimum number of around 50 to fight the ship, but I figure 65 or so is much more reasonable, so that's what I'm going with.**

**Oh, and by the way, the Normandy is lifting off for her shakedown cruise right now with closer to 30 servicemen on board, of which eight are Marines. So at the moment, the Normandy isn't really even close to at fighting trim. On the other hand, she's not going on a multiple month deployment, so she will be able to function regardless for at least a few days.**

* * *

**Some naval terms explained below. Some are from the Mass Effect codex, some are from modern and historical nautical terms, and some are made up by me.**

**Port and starboard – left and right, as you face towards the front (bow) of the ship. You always use port and starboard, not left and right, when you're shipboard to avoid confusion between people facing different directions. Confusion on a naval warship could mean death.**

**Bow – front of the ship. To refer to something towards the bow, you say forwards or fore.**

**Stern – back of the ship. To refer to something towards the stern, you say aft or abaft.**

**Up and down – same as normal use, based on the orientation of the artificial gravity**

**Navvy, spaceboy, spacer – slang for naval servicemen, either by marines or by civilians**

**Jarhead, leatherneck, groundpounder, crunchy – slang for marines**

**MDet – Marine Detachment – can refer to the detachment itself or its commander**

**CO – Commanding Officer – the commander of the ship. On a frigate, generally a Lieutenant Commander or Staff Commander. On a cruiser, always a Staff Commander, and on a dreadnought or carrier, always a Captain. The gentle "father" or "Old Man" of a ship's crew, he commands and gives orders, but doesn't generally deal too much with day to day running of the ship.**

**XO – Executive Officer – second in command of a ship. On a frigate, generally a Lieutenant Commander, although it can rarely be a Staff Lieutenant. The strict "mother" or "Old Lady" of a ship's crew, he deals with the bureaucratic issues and minor discipline problems on a ship, as well as ensuring she's always ready to carry out any of the CO's orders.**

**COB – Chief of Boat – senior enlisted on a ship, third member of the "command triad" of the CO, XO and COB. He will always be an Operations Chief, except on very minor commands, where he might be a Gunnery Chief. The all-knowing and responsible "older brother" of a ship's crew, who takes care of things that the officers don't want to and shouldn't have to, he is the main link between the CO and XO and the ship's crew.**

**There are more terms, and some that I may have written in here and forgotten about it, so if any don't make sense, just ask me to explain it.**


End file.
